This new Fitbit thing not only tracks activity and calories burned from that activity, it also tracks my sleep. Before turning out the lights at night, I tap it until two lights come on, which is the device’s way of saying it’s in sleep mode. When I wake up in the morning, I tap it until the regular lights come on, which is my way of saying that I’m up. Then I check my sleep log, and while the hours of sleep I’m getting seem to be okay, I certainly am a restless sleeper, usually awake and/or active (meaning doing more than just sleeping soundly) more than ten times a night, for a total of between thirty and fifty minutes. I suppose this means I’m not sleeping well, but it’s really just how I sleep, so much so that when I do sleep all the way through the night without waking up multiple times, it feels like I haven’t been sleeping at all. I need to wake up, check the clock, and realize that I still have a few hours left to stay in bed. That’s what makes me feel rested.

Although this may change now that we got a new mattress. WE GOT A NEW MATTRESS! I had the old mattress for about ten years, and while I was mostly comfortable in it, keep in mind that I mostly sleep by myself. Mine and Graham’s schedules are so different that he’s crawling into bed just as I’m crawling out of it, so we didn’t usually have to negotiate the dip that I so happily wore into the middle of the bed for the entire time I lived alone. It never bothered me because I was the only one who slept there, but once Graham and I tried being asleep in bed at the same time, I realized it was difficult to a) perch on the absolute edge of the bed without feeling like my back wasn’t tensing up to break every time I woke up and b) manage to breathe – let alone stay asleep – in the middle without being crushed by Graham’s body weight or being forced to breathe in every time he breathed out, which we all know is basically carbon dioxide poisoning.

So we went out last week and spent a crapload of money on invested in a new mattress, and now we can both lie on it without being furious at the other one for existing. I mean, I still know he’s there. It’s not like we got one of those “you bring the glass of red wine, I’ll jump on the bed!” mattresses. That some space age astronaut shit and I can’t afford that.

One of the things I liked about buying a new mattress was that we did it at this tiny storefront about two miles from the house. So first of all, we supported a local business instead of going to a Mattress Depot type of place owned by a giant conglomerate where a bunch of sad weirdos earn commissions on mattresses. Second, the guy we bought it from was the owner of the store, and he wore a weird brown crushed velvety-suit, and he was entirely ripped on cocaine. I don’t know if you’ve ever bought a mattress from someone who wasn’t entirely ripped on cocaine, but I recommend trying. I was thoroughly entertained the entire time, didn’t really feel pressured by someone who had their shit together, and I didn’t feel at all bad when I said I was passing on the $50 mattress cover because “it’s not like either of us are bedwetters.” Then he used the mattress salesperson scare tactic, which is “You know, in ten years, a mattress doubles its weight from bodily fluids, skin cells, and dead dust mites.”

Pfffft. Okay. I mean, probably that’s true, but also that’s kind of more cool than it is gross, so maybe if you’re a coked-out mattress salesperson, use that line on someone who’s more easily disgusted with themselves.

I’m all stocked up here.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.